Broken Strings
by passthebutter
Summary: Jay hesitates outside of Charles's door, and angst ensues. Charles/Jay; angst


The glow-in-the-dark hands of a scene kid's watch shone briefly, offering for a few seconds a glimpse of space and time and – most importantly – _normalcy_ in the stifling room; the air was full of emotion, heavy with want, and need, and sex, and _regret_. A shuffle was heard and then came an uncertain-sounding "I've got to go" and a "See you later". Silence, long and filled with the humming of several things left unspoken, and a door clicking shut.

Outside of Charles's room, Jay hesitated. Something inside of him whined, and he knew that this was it. This was the last straw. This…

Their 'relationship' (if you could call it that) had started off okay. They were friends, so they hung out and played Mario Kart and went to the cinema and Charles snarked at him, but they also had sex (they fucked, banged, screwed – never 'made love'. Charles was clear on this fact). That was good. Yeah. Good. Jay could deal with that. But then Jay… Well, he had done the unthinkable. He had crossed the line. He had done what they had been avoiding this whole time.

_(It was unthinkable because they had both agreed that this would never happen)._

Jay leaned against the door, staring at the small, rectangular sign that read "Charles" in fancy gold script (Charles said it had been on his door since he was a baby). He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to hear his friend's soft breathing through the wood of the door (expensive mahogany, rich and dark, like everything else in Charles's house), through the barrier that separated them, the obstacle that was stretching between them like an ocean, flinging them into crashing waves and rain and storm and grey and neither of them could swim…

_(Charles had broken him)._

Jay wanted to hold Charles, to gently stroke his shoulder blades, to run his fingers through soft blond hair, feeling the weight of his head in his palm and the silky strands moving over his fingers like liquid gas, like sunlight made solid. Jay wanted to kiss his lips and cup his face and _go slow_… Jay wanted to do all the things Charles wouldn't let him do because _this_, whatever _this_ was - _this_ was _just sex, Jay, just fucking, don't turn this into something else, something we'll both regret_.

_(Charles didn't love him)._

Jay wanted to hold him for the last time, because it would be his last chance to feel again.

_(Charles never had)._

Jay knew that if Charles was awake (and he probably was), he would've realised by now that Jay had not driven away (Charles wasn't stupid), but the scene kid apparently couldn't move his legs.

_(It tore him up inside)._

The whole trying-not-to-fall-for-Charles thing had been hard enough when they were only friends. But now that Jay had seen Charles's eyes clouded with lust, and felt his fingers in places no one had ever been before… Well, that just made the whole thing a thousand times harder. How was he supposed to go back to "just friends" after watching his "friend" push back sweaty blond hair, watched his "friend" arch his back like a cat as he rode Jay's cock, watched his "friend" come, squirming and whining and _moaning Jay's name_?

How could he go back to "just friends" when Jay had held Charles, clutched him to his chest like he was the only thing that could save him from drowning (and maybe he was), cradled him in his arms for a few moments in that honey-sweet post-orgasm haze, held him until the blond realised what was happening and wriggled free, stood up, got dressed, left (or made Jay leave). Charles was only ever truly close to him for those fractions of seconds where their breathing synchronised and their skin burned to the touch… And then it was all over, and he was back to never looking at Jay if he could help it, and not sitting next to him if he could help it, and only speaking to him when he had to.

Charles ignoring him was infinitely worse than Charles constantly sniping at him. It made Jay feel like a kicked puppy or something worthless and disgusting on the bottom of Charles's shoe. It really hit home, then, when he would smile at Charles and not receive a smile in return, when he would do things for the blond and not get thanked… It really hit home how vulnerable he was.

_(Jay had tried to hold on, but it hurt too much)._

His hand came to rest on the door handle, and Jay snapped to his senses, the cold metal jolting him out of his pensive, trance-like state. What was he doing here? Suddenly, he realised where he was, and the door was burning, and he hurried down the corridor, down the stairs (skipped the last one because it creaked), out the door and into his car. He fumbled with his car keys, and how was he supposed to explain the fact that he had not left the house immediately, and the car kicked into life, rumbling in a comforting way, and his tires skidded on the wet road, and the roar of his engine filled the night.

_(He had tried to forgive, but it wasn't enough to make it all okay)._


End file.
